His Woman, His Wife, His Widow Read online

  His Woman, His Wife, His Widow

  Janice Jones

  www.urbanchristianonline.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Prologue

  PART I - AND IN THE BEGINNING ...

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  PART II - A BRAND NEW BEGINNING ...

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  PART III - THE BEGINNING OF THE END

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Epilogue

  READING GROUP QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  BIO

  UC HIS GLORY BOOK CLUB!

  What We Believe:

  Copyright Page

  DEDICATION

  I dedicate His Woman, His Wife, His Widow to two people who are no longer here with me in this earthly realm, but still reside deep within my heart.

  To my mother, Valerie Bumpers. Mama, I miss you so much. Your support and unconditional love has gotten me to this point in my life. You have always made me feel like I could do anything. Of course, I selfishly wish you were here to celebrate the realization of a dream, but knowing that you now live with the Lord gives me consolation. The strong mother figure in this novel is definitely patterned after you. Whenever I wrote about Lindsay’s mom, I would ask myself, what would my mother say? What would my mother do? Thank you for giving so much to me in so many different ways. I will always love you.

  To Wilbert Eugene Franklin, Jr., affectionately known to all as Junior. You were a great friend, and you applauded my efforts with your support and enthusiasm. You let me into a place where few were allowed to tread, and I appreciated our special relationship. It tears at my heart that you did not live long enough to see this project to its completion, but I am strengthened knowing that you have gone on to be with King Jesus. I remember you in every old school song that no one else around me appreciates, every time I light my grill all by myself, and every time a butterfly comes near. I miss you and I love you.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, I have to acknowledge and give thanks to God, my Father, Jesus Christ, my Savior, and the Holy Spirit, my ever present help. Lord, without you, there would be no me; therefore, no His Woman, His Wife, His Widow. Father, I thank you for each and every chapter, paragraph, sentence, word, syllable, and letter of this project. I thank you, Father, for the gift of written communication, and I thank you for the ability to hear from you so that I may walk in the purpose you have given me. It is my honor and my pleasure to serve you.

  To Jerrick & Derrick, Mommy loves you two so very much. You are my inspiration in everything I do. I pray that I have given to you as much as you have given to me. Prayerfully you are as proud of me as I am of you. To Jevon, my grandbaby, Granny is working hard to leave a legacy of greatness for you.

  I would like to say thank you to my daddy, Harold Bumpers. You have always been supportive of me in all of my endeavors and have always had my back through all of my messes. Thank you, Daddy, for loving me unconditionally.

  To Denise and Monique: Oh my goodness. You two have been very instrumental in helping me to get this project from chapter one to completion. You have read and read, reinvented, read some more, and given me your invaluable support. You have forced me to write when I did not feel like it, and your honest feedback has helped me to make this novel great. You two are the best friends a writer can have, but even more importantly, a woman can have.

  Darrius, Darrin (Main), Darnella, Sherrie, and Linda: I thank God that you all are my siblings. You are always proud of me, and you go out of your way to be there for me no matter what. You all are the bomb. Thank you for all of my nieces, nephews and godchildren.

  To my childhood homies, Wendy and Curtrise: You two are just like family. We have had our ups and downs, but NOTHING has been able to break our bond. Curtrise, you taught me so much about writing and a lot of my style in this novel came from you. Wendy, trust me when I say your experience helped me to write this novel as well (smile).

  To Lawanda and Sonya, my new friends here in Arizona: You ladies have helped make my transition so much easier. You have supported me as if I have known you my entire life, and you have been great encouragers and cheerleaders. God was surely in charge of our divine connecting.

  To my agent, Janell Walden Agyeman of Marie Brown & Associates, another divine connection: Thank you for taking me on even though you had absolutely no room left on your plate. Your expertise and advice has been superior, and I look forward to working with you for a long, long time.

  To the Urban Christian family, I would like to first thank Vanessa Miller. You offered to read my manuscript and did not know me from Adam. Then you called me at 6:00 A.M. to give your praises. That was one of the most blessed days of my life. Joylynn, the day you called me ranks up there as well. Thank you for believing in me and for your wonderful eye and ear. Carl Weber, you write the best drama in the world. You inspired me from afar with your special brand of talent.

  To my favorite authors, Victoria Christopher Murray and Beverly Jenkins, I pray that I will touch readers the way you two have touched me. I have read everything you have written, and I stalk the bookstores and websites, relentlessly awaiting your next releases. Sista Souljah, The Coldest Winter Ever is my all time favorite book. I can honestly say, after reading that book I, too, wanted to write a novel. I pray that Lindsay will be as well received by readers as Winter.

  To the ladies of the Women’s CSI class of First Institutional Baptist Church, Charmaine, Erica, Lisa, Beverly, Sherrie, Karen, Mrs. Coleman, Kim, and Tawanda. I want to use this opportunity to say thank you for your unwavering support during one of the most difficult periods of my life. You embraced me and loved me just as God has called us to do in His Word. You all did the Lord proud.

  To my readers: I thank you for choosing this book, and I pray that you were not disappointed. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to entertain and hopefully enlighten you. It is my desire that you are looking forward to more and more and more ...

  Prologue

  September—2006

  I knew in my limited thirty-year-old wisdom, if it were not for God on my side, I would never make it through this day without having a nervous breakdown. I knew I had abandoned God on numerous occasions, yet I expected Him not to handle me in the same manner. Thankfully, God was not like man. So I prayed all morning for the strength to handle Shaun’s funeral.

  The event played as if that fool had planned the whole circus himself, full of glitz glamour and drama. However, it was his mother, queen of ignorant shenanigans, who was responsible for putting together today’s sideshow, never once bothering to ask for my input. I mean, after all, was I not his wife? Patricia even went as far as making the seating arrangements for the two limousines that followed the hearse.

  A white-diamond Bentley style Rolls
Royce carried the casket. The two limos that followed were of the same style and color. Shaun’s mother, his grandmother, his two sisters, Francine, and Tameeka, along with Francine’s two children and Uncle Bobby, all rode in the first car. The second limousine held myself and my two children, Shauntae and Lil’ Shaun. Also along for the ride were Shaun’s son, Kevaun, and his mother, Keva, Shaun’s daughter, Shawna, and her mother, Tawanda, and Shaun’s oldest son, Sha’Ron, who was being raised by Patricia. I dubbed our vehicle The Baby Mama Car.

  The limo was a little crowded, but the atmosphere was thick with uneasiness. Like I said . . . drama! The entire ride to the church was completed in total silence. Not even the children uttered a sound. I guess they too could feel the discomforting tension overflowing inside the automobile.

  One of my children sat in my lap and the other by my side. Tawanda sat next to us with her two-month-old child sound asleep in her lap. Keva sat across from us with her son sitting next to her. Throughout the ride, I noticed that Kevaun continually stared at Shauntae with very disbelieving eyes. He probably could not understand why she looked so much like him. Sha’Ron sat next to Kevaun.

  When the two limos pulled to a stop at the church, we all made our exit and headed to the front entrance of the church. For the thousandth time since I had learned about the funeral arrangements, I wondered how his mother was able to secure one of Detroit’s most prominent churches for this funeral. I knew the she-devil herself never attended church, and I was pretty sure she didn’t know or associate with anyone who did. She was a true spawn of Lucifer.

  As I passed the crowd gathered outside the church while holding onto my babies’ hands, I could hear jeers and snickers emanating from the female “mourners,” pointing and letting those who were unaware know that I was wifey.

  I scanned the crowd and one lone face stood out prominently. Although she looked very familiar, I could not quite put together the exact nature of our acquaintance. It was obvious that she recognized me as well, and from the heat radiating from her stare, I could tell our previous encounter had been none too pleasant. I ignored the gawker for the time being, making my way into the service.

  The immediate family was ushered to the front of the church where the casket lay to view the body of my husband. Now I believe proper etiquette dictated that my children and I say our good-byes first. However, Shaun’s mother very boldly nudged me out of the way and went ahead of us.

  Hate-Tricia ... did I say that? I meant, Patricia stood there in her big purple and black hat, that ugly purple dress, and her fake boobs speaking to her dead son as if he were the world’s most precious gift. She wailed as if Shaun’s death was the greatest crime ever committed in the city of Detroit. Please! She knew better than most that this punk was no earthly good.

  After a very dramatic performance, Patricia finally stepped away from the casket. She stopped in front of me, and after we exchanged rolling eyes, she moved away. I took the children to the casket to say our final farewells.

  Standing there in front of his eternal cage, I stared at Shaun’s heavily made-up face. He even had on a light shade of lipstick. The paints of presentation drastically altered his appearance. He didn’t look a thing like his former self. I felt as if I owed the make-up artist a huge dept of gratitude, because I never wanted to see him again. I hated this man. Yet I somehow managed to keep from wearing my inner turmoil as an accessory to my bereavement outfit because I didn’t want our children to feel my animosity. Shauntae and Lil’ Shaun both shed silent tears, and they waved good-bye to their daddy.

  When we were done, the remaining family said their good-byes. We were then all seated on the first two pews of the church as the rest of the gatherers were allowed a final viewing of the body. As they passed by us, several people stopped to say nice or comforting things to Shaun’s mom. A few of them had some words of encouragement for me. However, most of them just passed by me, choosing to only speak to his mother and sisters. I got very little respect as the grieving widow.

  When I looked toward the casket, the mysterious woman I saw in the crowd earlier was standing there. She looked truly miserable as she hovered a little longer than the rest of the people. As she stepped away, the familiar stranger came and began talking to Patricia. Before she could complete her first sentence, she broke down and cried.

  “I am ... so sorry ... for ... not ... coming ... around like ... I should have. I swear, Mama Pat, I’m gonna do better ... now that Sha’Ron’s daddy is gone,” she wept.

  Patricia kissed the woman’s face and invited her to sit next to her. All this was done while I added and multiplied the words my virtual stranger spoke, my calculations equaling one startling conclusion: the stranger was Rhonda, the mother of Shaun’s oldest son. A woman who used to hate me the way I now hated Shaun.

  I had not seen Rhonda in quite a few years. I assumed that she kept in touch with my in-laws since Patricia was raising her son. Rhonda was a lot heavier than I remembered which is probably why I had such a hard time recognizing her right away. Her eyes, however, were still the same. She still cradled the same sadness in them as the very first time I saw her. It was her eyes that triggered that flicker of acknowledgment in me. I am sure she knew who I was at first glance.

  I turned my head to sneak another peak at her just before the minister began the program for the service. I simply wanted to get another look, but Rhonda must have felt me starring because she lifted her head from Patricia’s shoulder and shot me a look filled with putrid loathing. I turned away quickly, confused by her malice. I hoped she didn’t still hold a grudge after all these years. Moreover, I really hoped she didn’t have any designs on trying to jump bad again. Surely she didn’t want an encore performance of the last time she tried that crap.

  If she did get any stupid ideas, this would be the best place for her to try to do something. That way they could funeralize her with the simple so-and-so that caused her to get beat down the first time she tried me. I would go for straight up murder and take my chances with a not guilty on the grounds of self defense plea.

  I let those thoughts slip from my mind as I refocused on what the minister was saying. Those bad events happened more than thirteen years ago. Better to bury them with the man that caused them.

  The funeral services concluded without too much commotion. A few of the females in the church threw hissy fits during the preacher’s eulogy, but other than that, it was a peaceful affair. Even poor grieving Tawanda, Shaun’s latest baby mama, held onto her composure. She acted out something terrible when the funeral directors attempted to close the lid on the casket. That crazy woman actually tried to crawl in there, baby and all, with him.

  We left the church in an orderly fashion and all proceeded to their awaiting vehicles for the processional to the cemetery. The seating arrangements for the immediate family remained the same for the ride from the church to the cemetery with one exception. Rhonda now rode in the car with Patricia.

  At the cemetery, only six chairs were available for the funeral participants. Each of those was positioned in front of where the casket lay. The chairs represented places of prestige in the life of the deceased. The rest of the mourners were to stand during the gravesite commencement. These accessible seats posed a dilemma. There were only six seats for nine adults who considered themselves prominent figures in this fool’s life.

  While at the church, I let Patricia get away with bullying me out of my position as head female in Shaun’s life. However, here, I pulled rank. I sat myself in one of those chairs and positioned my children so they stood right near me. After I took my seat, the others stood around looking puzzled for a moment.

  After a few seconds, his grandmother insisted on sitting because she was old and her feet were hurting. She then insisted that Patricia take the seat next to her. Uncle Bobby graciously decided to stand and let the women get comfortable. Yet the problem still remained. There were now only three seats unoccupied with five women still standing.

  His t
wo sisters subtly bum-rushed two of the seats and Tawanda took the last, leaving Rhonda and Keva standing with much attitude. They both decided to settle in behind the row of chairs. Rhonda positioned herself much too closely to my kids and me for my comfort, but I decided not to say anything as long as she didn’t get to acting funky. The other two children stood behind the chairs with their mothers, and the rest of the mourners gathered in various positions around the casket and the hole in the ground that was to be Shaun’s final resting place.

  Once everyone appeared settled, the minister came over to give his final words. At some point during his second sentence, Keva started muttering audibly under her breath. I could only make out a few of the choice words she spoke, but those I recognized were quite unpleasant.

  Apparently Patricia heard them also. “Girl, shut your mouth. All that fussing and carrying on ain’t even necessary. This preacher is trying to lay my son to rest.”

  Keva got downright indignant then. “You don’t tell me to shut up, you evil cow. I am a grown woman; one of the women responsible for giving your sorry behind a grandchild. You have been orchestrating and ordering people around all morning and I am sick of it. You hunted me down and insisted I come to this pitiful charade of a funeral; talking about your grandbaby deserved to see his daddy for the final time.”

  Keva was pissed off and very animated by now. She stomped around, arms flailing, words scattered as she continued to rant. “Why wasn’t it important for your grandbaby to see his daddy while that dirt bag was still alive? Why didn’t you care enough to see my son before now? You know what? Forget it. It doesn’t even matter. I am so tired of all this fake mess that my head is about to explode. I’m getting outta here before I hurt somebody. Come on, Kevaun, let’s go.”

  As Keva grabbed her son and made her exit, my daughter leaned over and asked, “Mommy, why did that lady say that my daddy was her son’s daddy too? I don’t know him. My only brothers are Lil’ Shaun and Sha’Ron, right?”